


Impaled

by contumeliouscorvid



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Clawing at Own Throat, Episode Tag, Episode: s05e02 The Seed, FebuWhump2021, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Impaling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29227575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contumeliouscorvid/pseuds/contumeliouscorvid
Summary: The alien organism that had been using Keller as its host was clearly dead, but he hadn’t been the one to administer the cure...Tag toThe Seed.
Kudos: 17
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo, febuwhump 2021





	Impaled

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompts, “Clawing at Own Throat“ for Bad Things Happen Bingo and “Impaling” for Febuwhump day 4.

The world came back to Ronon in grayish bursts and moments of half-clarity. His body felt oddly weightless, disconnected. The feeling—or, rather, absence of it—was just disconcerting enough to set alarms screaming at the back his mind. They brought him closer to the surface, and surfacing made feeling creep back in. He almost wished it hadn’t. Pain snarled at him, an ornery, cornered beast that lunged when he paid it attention. He did it anyway. Something was still nagging at him, calling for his attention. Something was wrong. He needed to wake up. To fight. To survive. 

A dull, building pressure in his head preceded all else, accompanied by a buzzing noise and flickers of static that obscured his vision of the dank space he was in. But it was the searing pain in his throat that jerked him to wakefulness, his memory full of slimy tendrils wrapped around him, choking. He ripped his wrists free with surprisingly little resistance and clawed at his throat, raking away the flesh-colored vines. They flopped to the ground, lifeless and gray. Dead. 

Instinctively, he swallowed, and the pain raged, choking him anew. Ronon lurched forward and gagged, struggling to breathe past the pain and the swelling that closed his throat. Hours or minutes passed while he sat there, desperately sucking air in through his damaged windpipe. He was faintly aware of the way his wheezing echoed loudly down the hallway. He didn’t care. His blaster lay the floor in front of him, half-buried underneath a lifeless vine. It scraped against the floor as he slid it back towards himself, ignoring the lethargy that weighed on him and jellied his muscles. They shook under the strain of simply reaching. He growled in frustration, and even that came out as nothing more than a raspy breath. Red bruises encircled his wrists, and his numb fingers tingled as the blood returned to them.

Keller. The alien organism that had been using her as a host was clearly dead, but he hadn’t been the one to administer the cure. He hadn’t been far from the isolation room when he’d been stopped. Determined to find out what had become of the doctor, Ronon gripped his weapon tightly and stood. 

Static sheeted over his vision. It was a wall of black that slammed into him with a force not unlike a Wraith stunner, rendered him blind and deaf and brought him to his knees. The headache reared up when it finally faded, pressing against the back of his eyes, pressing, _pressing_. Too fast. He’d gotten up too fast. Ronon hated this, hated that he couldn’t rely on himself to even stand up at the moment. Curling his lip, he haphazardly aimed his blaster at the wall of alien excrescences blocking the path in front of him. Not alien. _Wraith_. The very same that made up their hive ships. The stench of charred growths enveloped the stuffy space. He allowed himself a small grin at that and got to his feet again. 

Bright sunlight filtered through the limp, hanging tendrils ahead of him, and Ronon quickened his pace as much as he could. Exhaustion was slowing him more than he liked. A great hole in the tower's wall let the sunlight in, and the path of destruction drew his gaze to the hulking shape of a Jumper. Sheppard. He grinned again. Sheppard wouldn’t have let anything happen to Keller. He stumbled deeper inside, past the Jumper, and the sense of victory that had buoyed him dampened at the sight of the blood, dark as spilled ink, that smeared the floor. The source was Sheppard, leaning against what had once been the foot of Keller’s bed, but was now an overgrown lump of slimy Wraith tendrils. He had a loose hold on one that was buried in his middle. Ronon could tell he was breathing from here, by the shallow and occasionally hitched rise and fall of his chest. Blood pooled around him, and another, smaller puddle lay a few steps away from where Sheppard had dragged himself from. 

Slime squelched under Ronon as he let himself sink to the floor next to Sheppard, breaths whistling through his abused throat. The familiar tang of blood hung heavy in the air, and he fought to take it in for a few minutes. He was still wheezing as he shook Sheppard’s shoulder gently, and then roughly when he failed to respond. An attempt to call his name came as nothing but a breathless rasp. He kept on, insistent, until Sheppard jerked awake, eyes wide. The movement jarred the tendril that had him skewered. Ronon winced in silent sympathy as Sheppard paled and choked back a soft sound of agony. He’d screwed his eyes shut again as he panted shallowly through the pain. 

“You… ‘kay?” He finally gritted out. 

In lieu of a verbal reply, he gave a reassuring squeeze to Sheppard’s shoulder. 

“Help’s on the way,” Sheppard murmured, seeming to understand. 

Indeed, it wasn’t long before he heard signs of their rescue trampling through the overgrown maze of hallways. Boots thumped and squished against dead growths and solid floor. Voices called out, but he couldn’t quite understand what they were saying. He was drifting again, the buzzing in his ears lulling him. And it didn’t hurt that the pain had faded somewhat. Vaguely, he saw flashes of black uniforms and shiny P90 muzzles. Someone was touching his throat gingerly, and he thought about swatting them away, but it was easier to close his eyes. He recognized Beckett’s agitated voice, barking out orders, presumably to a med team. Ronon sank back into a buzzing black ocean, comforted in the knowledge that Sheppard and Keller would be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are very much appreciated.


End file.
